


kiss me in the doorway

by primaveracerezos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25318678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primaveracerezos/pseuds/primaveracerezos
Summary: "At Draco’s trial, Potter testified that Draco had acted only in fear of his life, for his parents’ lives. When the Wizengamot announced his pardon, hundreds of eyes were on him, but he only felt one gaze. He found Potter’s green eyes in the crowd, where he was insulated by layers of loyal friends. The expression on Potter’s face was painfully open, studying, curious. Draco returned it. He had questions too."
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 41
Kudos: 584
Collections: DrarryLove, HP Inspired by Imagery Fest - 2020





	kiss me in the doorway

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is 1000% dedicated to my partner, S, without whom I would never be able to write a love story like this. Thanks for kissing me in every doorway, babe. <4
> 
> Written for the 2020 HP Inspired By Imagery fest, [prompt 7](https://truelovegaylove.tumblr.com/post/185040639468) (NSFW).
> 
> Thank you to my lovely alpha+beta, kittycargo, for dragging me across the finish line. This fic would not have happened without you. 
> 
> Thank you to Rachel for the cheerleading (and modding!!!) and to quicksilvermaid and pineau-noir for last-minute beta work ❤️
> 
> And of course, a million thanks to the mods for running this show!
> 
> Title (and general vibe) from [Make Out by Julia Nunes](https://open.spotify.com/track/7sDNOhZKTb7RBDm3udUGDo?si=3LAbPl8BQV-qXtSF5ziRtA).

Draco wakes slowly, lazily, the comfort of sleep only rivaled by the unfamiliarity of the room around him. There are birds outside the cracked window, singing softly. Early sunlight filters over him like gentle fingers caressing the bed. He’s warm, tangled in a soft duvet, his face in a pillow that smells like sandalwood and—

Harry. He blindly reaches in front of him, and Harry is there, solid and warm and naked and—he’s _there_. Draco blinks his eyes to focus and finds Harry still asleep, snoring quietly. There’s a little bruise on his neck, just the shape of Draco’s mouth. His lips are still red and raw from Draco’s teeth and stubble. Freckles dust his cheeks, so perfectly arranged they must have been placed there individually. 

He looks beautiful. 

Draco knows he probably needs to get up—from the light he can tell it’s close to 6 AM—but ignoring his responsibilities in favor of lying in bed with a beautiful man is an easy choice. He scoots toward Harry, carefully wraps an arm over his ribcage. Harry sighs in his sleep and presses against him. 

Draco can hardly breathe for love.

~~~

After the war, they attended the same funerals, the same weddings, the same ceremonies and trials and unveilings. Potter was always surrounded. His friends guarded him like crups, keeping him away from the Ministry, the press, the public. Draco saw him through the crowds. They’d managed to spot each other across the room since they were eleven years old; time did nothing to change that. 

For that first year, Potter looked like a corpse. He was thin, gaunt, pale; his hair, always so unwieldy, hung limp as if tired from a long day. Potter smiled when required, posed for magazine covers, but Draco could see the pain in his face. Draco wondered if everyone else saw it too, and ignored it in favor of moving on, or if Draco only recognized it because it lived in him too. 

At Draco’s trial, Potter testified that Draco had acted only in fear of his life, for his parents’ lives. When the Wizengamot announced his pardon, hundreds of eyes were on him, but he only felt one gaze. He found Potter’s green eyes in the crowd, where he was insulated by layers of loyal friends. The expression on Potter’s face was painfully open, studying, curious. Draco returned it. He had questions too. 

~~~

It took nearly two years after Voldemort’s death for Draco to find the courage to write to Andromeda. His mother had died just weeks earlier and he felt adrift, cut off from all the family he knew. He was unbearably lonely, rolling around the Manor like a lost marble, nothing but walls of cruel portraits for company.

He crumpled up eight drafts before settling on:

_Dear Madam Tonks,_

_My name is Draco Malfoy. I am Narcissa’s son. I would like to meet you, if you are amenable. Please write back._

_\- DM_

He didn’t expect a response, but the very next morning, a tawny owl dropped a note next to his cup of coffee.

_Draco,_

__

__

Please come around tomorrow for tea. Your cousin Teddy would love to meet you. Apparition coordinates enclosed.

_Love,  
Andromeda_

Still smelling of coffee grounds and pastries, Draco apparated to Andromeda’s little seaside cottage after work one February afternoon. He had no idea what to expect, and he didn’t like walking into a situation he didn’t have under his control, but he was determined to connect with the last of his living family. 

Andromeda hugged him as soon as she opened the door. He tried his best not to be too stiff, but it had been a long time since he’d been hugged. In the end, he'd settled on folding his arms around her, conscious of the fact that she was the same height his mother had been.

A small, rosy-cheeked toddler darted around Andromeda and grabbed Draco’s finger. Draco was led to a pile of toys in the sitting room and promptly handed a plastic lizard and frighteningly realistic toy puffskein. “Sorry!” laughed Andromeda. “He doesn’t know a stranger.”

Andromeda had prepared a little spread of sandwiches and scones. They sat in a sunroom, the wintery coast in view, and watched Teddy perform various feasts of toddler gymnastics. Teddy’s interests seemed to be primarily insects, sweets, and the sound of his own yells. 

Thus began Draco’s weekly ritual of Thursday dinner at Andromeda’s cottage. With time, Teddy began to recognize him, and once, his hair flashed the same platinum blond as Draco’s before reverting to its usual jet black. Andromeda quietly told Draco that it meant Teddy liked him. Draco took a liking to Teddy as well; his energy was only paralleled by his exhaustion after hours of running about. After a particularly vigorous toddler broom racing match, Teddy collapsed in Draco’s lap, sucking his fingers until he fell asleep. Draco was utterly charmed by his sweet, sleepy face, and found himself staying longer so he wouldn’t have to disturb him. 

As for Andromeda herself, she acted as though she had always been in Draco’s life, never flinching when he told her about his Hogwarts years or the days he’d spent holed up in the Manor with the Death Eaters. Initially, Draco had been cautious, but he found it remarkably easy to talk to Andromeda; her responses to his deepest secrets and greatest pains was usually, “Hmm,” followed by a pat on the arm. She hugged him every time he arrived and left. After Draco mentioned that lemon bars were his favorite, she kept some under a stasis charm every Thursday. 

Draco recognized the compassion Andromeda showed him; it was the same love his mother had hidden a layer beneath her careful pureblood politeness. His favorite memories of his mother were times he glimpsed her with all her walls down—when she braided his hair as a young boy, or as she lay in the garden reading—and he saw those moments in Andromeda, too, especially when she looked at Teddy. It made him feel close to both of them, Narcissa and Andromeda. 

He wondered about his own armor. He wondered who would see through it. 

~~~

It takes a while for Draco to will himself out of Harry’s bed. He had planned, last night, to wake with enough time to return to his own flat to get ready for work, but… holding Harry, watching the miracle of his chest rising and falling, breathing in his smell—it’s impossible for Draco to let go. The dawn light does something magical to Harry’s skin, making it look like he’s glowing golden bronze. Draco wants to hold onto this, to memorize this moment.

He can feel time tugging at him, though, and finally he relents. Carefully he extricates himself from Harry, casts a silent _tempus_ , and curses himself. He only has 40 minutes until he has to open the cafe. Biting his lip, he thinks quickly—he can shower here, wear yesterday’s jeans, steal something from Harry’s closet—yes, he can make this work. 

Draco tiptoes to the bathroom, not wanting to wake Harry. He finds an unopened toothbrush under the sink (freshening charms just don’t do the job properly) and inspects his reflection while he brushes. One small love bite on his collarbone—it’ll be covered by a top, no need to heal it. His heart swells at the thought of keeping this little reminder with him all day. 

He peeks in Harry’s cabinet, telling himself it’s just to see what his chances are of finding any hair products he can actually use. It’s surprisingly well-stocked: hand lotion, shaving kit, moisturizers, cologne, spare shampoo bottles. Draco takes a moment to uncap the cologne and almost melts—so that’s where that Harry-smell comes from. 

The shower is a pleasant surprise as well. Draco suspected Harry was an all-purpose soap type, but there are separate shampoo and conditioner bottles, a few scents of body soap, and two kinds of face wash. Draco cleans himself as quickly as he can while luxuriating in the hot water and fantastic water pressure, towels off, and steps onto the bath mat. It occurs to him that he’s going to smell like Harry all day, and he feels himself smiling. Just to round it out, he spritzes a little cologne on his wrist. 

~~~

One afternoon in April, Draco was standing at Andromeda’s kitchen counter, drying plates after she washed them. Initially, he had thought it was ridiculous that she didn’t use magic, but he had come to find it sort of meditative. On the ground, Teddy clanged together a wooden spoon and a pot, laughing at himself. 

“This weekend is Teddy’s second birthday party,” Andromeda mentioned. That was how she conveyed information, offering it casually, leaving it up to Draco to decide whether or not to engage. 

He took the bait. “Oh?”

Draco had never seen anyone else at Andromeda’s house, but logically he knew she had a wide circle of friends. The cottage was full of photos of people, some Draco recognized from school. Several featured Potter and his crew. There was one picture in particular that Draco had watched a few times, mesmerized: A view over someone’s shoulder as they cradled a sleeping infant Teddy in their hands. A broad thumb brushed over one squishy cheek, making Teddy sprout an involuntary toothless smile. Draco knew immediately that it was Potter holding Teddy; his messy curls took up an entire corner of the frame. Draco found himself wishing the camera would show Potter’s face too. 

Andromeda nodded and handed him a dripping glass dish. “Sunday. I think most everyone will be here at about noon. Lunch, cake, games, music. Just a few friends and family, nothing too exciting.”

Teddy banged his spoon on the cabinet. “Cake! My cake!” The spoon bounced off the cabinet and whacked Teddy’s forehead. He sat stunned for a moment, looked up at Draco, and started wailing. 

Draco scooped him up, peeking to check for blood before holding him tight. “Shh, shh, it’s okay…” He waited for Teddy to calm down, patting his back, then looked up at Andromeda. She was smiling softly at them. 

“I’ll be here.”

~~~

Sunday morning dawned chilly and bright, perfect flying weather, so Draco took out his old broom for a solo Snitch game. He hoped a few hours on the pitch would ease his nerves about the birthday party. Eventually, he abandoned the Snitch and entertained himself by doing tricks—loops and dives and corkscrews—all the things his father never allowed on their private pitch. By midmorning, he was wonderfully sore and quite hungry. He showered, picked out a simple ensemble of black trousers and his favorite woollen sweater, took a few deep breaths, and popped over to Andromeda’s. 

The garden was decorated with teal and white streamers, little lawn games arranged in a circle around a few white picnic tables. The tables were strewn with delicious-looking food; Draco’s stomach growled as he spotted a large dish of macaroni and cheese.

Andromeda was talking with a few people and she waved from across the garden. Draco waved back, smiled, and considered leaving since she had seen him. 

“Hello,” came a soft voice from his side. Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to see Luna Lovegood smiling distantly at him, holding what appeared to be an enthusiastically-decorated stick. She turned it end over end and it made a sound like beads were rolling from one end to the other. “Rainmaker?” Lovegood asked, looking at Draco expectantly. 

Draco did his best to smile politely. “Oh. Lovely, thank you. Ah, but, maybe another day.”

Lovegood nodded and looked up at the cloudless sky. “Hmm. You’re right. Best not, with the party.” She laid the stick on the ground. “You’re nervous.”

“Oh.” Draco wasn’t sure how to respond. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Not to worry. We’re all family here.” With that, Lovegood walked away, leaving her rainmaker laying in front of Draco. He considered picking it up, looking around for guidance, but the partygoers were all seemingly engaged in their conversations and games. To be safe, Draco cast a shield charm around the stick, then headed toward the food. 

He was scooping up a sizable portion of potatoes when Potter popped onto the grass. Several Weasleys ran to greet him, all exchanging hugs and kisses. Draco nodded to himself; he’d known Potter, as Teddy’s godfather, would be there but he’d hoped to avoid him. 

There were a dozen or so children running about, their parents nearby; Draco assumed they were Andromeda’s assorted friends. Teddy seemed to be in his element with everyone doting on him and telling him how dapper he looked in his little blazer. He kept wandering over to the gift table and poking at the various bags and boxes, only for Andromeda or another adult to herd him back to the games. There were a few teary kids here and there—falls and scrapes and snatched toys—but generally, everyone was in good spirits. Draco was content watching from the garden wall, where he sat with a cup of lemonade and a now-empty plate. 

Andromeda began rounding everyone up for cake (Teddy screamed, “Cake!” so loud the sound echoed). Molly Weasley had apparently made the cake, as well as most of the generous spread. Draco remembered the snide comments he made in school, prodding Weasley about how his mother could possibly afford to feed all of her children. The regret weighed heavy on him now. 

He had no intention of moving from his shady spot to join the crowd, but Andromeda waved him over once and then again when he hadn’t moved a moment later. With a sigh, he steeled himself and reluctantly made his way to the tables.

Teddy spotted him and screeched, “Draco!” Draco felt his heart swell in his chest and gave Teddy a peck on the top of his head. There was an open spot next to Teddy, and feeling brave, Draco sat down, not daring to look up at the others gathered around him. He was sure they were glaring at him, talking about him under their breath—but Teddy wanted him there, and it was Teddy’s party. 

Andromeda reappeared with a gigantic turquoise-frosted cake levitating in front of her. Teddy cheered and clapped; his hair and skin both turning the same color as the icing. 

Draco heard a snort from behind him, then he was jostled as someone took a seat in the small space beside him. It was entirely too close to be polite. Draco glanced up to see who would possibly want to sit so near him and he was met with all-too-familiar green eyes. 

“Love the color, Teddo,” said Potter to Teddy, who giggled madly. To Draco, Potter said, “Alright?”

Draco nodded. He had no idea how he was supposed to respond. 

The cake was placed delicately on the stand, and the chatter around them quieted down. They started a rousing Happy Birthday, with which Teddy sang along quite exuberantly, and then someone was divvying up slices and everyone was loud again. Teddy, of course, used his hands to smash his cake into his face and then immediately demanded more. Andromeda told him he could have another piece if he went to sit with a very elderly woman who was apparently his great-great aunt. 

Draco quietly accepted his slice and started to slide off the bench, intending to go home. Potter caught his arm. 

“Almost lost your cake, there,” Potter said, and Draco saw how he had his plate tilted precariously. He nodded again and stood.

“You’re leaving?” Potter asked.

Draco shrugged. “Yes, I think so.”

“Somewhere to be?”

Before he could calculate an answer, Draco’s mouth said, “Not really.” He didn’t know why he was so honest—he kicked himself for not saying he had an appointment. 

Potter patted the bench next to him. “Then stay. We haven’t spoken since the—er, since Hogwarts.”

Draco gave him a long look. “And you want to speak now?”

It was Potter’s turn to shrug. “How’s your life been? What have you been up to?”

“Have I been recruiting troops for the next dark lord, do you mean?”

“What? No! That’s not what I— Oh, hello, Luna.”

Lovegood had made her way down the bench opposite them. She had recovered her rainstick. “Hello, Harry. You look lovely. Hello, Draco. Thank you for protecting my rainstick earlier.”

“Oh. You’re welcome?” Draco felt stupid, looming over them with his uneaten cake, so without looking at Potter, he sat back down and reached for a fork. 

“Harry, Draco gave me some excellent advice earlier regarding the weather. He really has some wonderful insight,” Luna continued, serving herself a piece from the platter. 

“Is that right, _Draco_?” Potter asked with a smirk that Draco wanted to wipe off his face.

Luna smiled. “I’m so glad you two are together now,” she said, then walked off, presumably to bewilder someone else. 

The both of them were silent for a moment, then they started speaking at once.

“What did she mean—?”

“She doesn’t—”

Potter laughed awkwardly. “She doesn’t mean, you know. _Together_. She has this thing with auras, you know, people sharing energy. Er. That sort of thing.”

Draco nodded, fighting the odd feeling in his stomach. “Alright. I suppose that makes sense.” He took a bite of his cake for something to do. Potter fidgeted with his napkin. 

“Studying,” Draco said suddenly.

“What?”

“You asked what I’ve been doing since Hogwarts. I’ve been studying. And working.”

“Oh.” Potter furrowed his brow. “You— Wait, working?”

Draco nodded, daring Potter to continue his line of questioning. 

Potter must have sensed Draco’s bristling, because he didn’t ask. “What are you studying? Potions?”

“Don’t stereotype me, Potter,” Draco said with a chuckle. “Just because I grew up in a dungeon—”

“Well, no, you were good at it in school—”

“I was _average_ , you were just so horrible I seemed spectacular.”

“Hey!” Potter protested. “I wasn’t horrible.”

Draco laughed harder. “You _were_. Though I supposed having a professor who hated you didn’t help.”

“Okay, then, if not potions, what?”

Draco paused. “Defensive arts.”

Potter gave him a strange look, like he’s calculating something. “Huh.”

“Go on, say it.”

“Say what?”

It was the same reaction everyone Draco told someone. He sighed. “Something like ‘You’ll have plenty of experience to draw on then,’ or ‘Figuring out the light side’s secrets for next time?’ Usually along those lines.”

Potter snorted. “I was actually thinking that you’re a lot more interesting than I thought.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. He took a long drink to hide his blush. 

Potter cleared his throat. “Would you, er… Would you want to get a coffee sometime? With me?”

Draco choked on his lemonade, coughing unglamorously into his elbow. When he could breathe again, he said, “Coffee?”

“It’s fine if you want to say no. I just thought, maybe—”

“Do you know Witch’s Brew? On Florence Wharf?”

“Yeah. I’ve never been inside, but I’ve seen the sign.”

“I’m off at two tomorrow. Meet you then.”

Before he could lose his nerve, Draco stood and disapparated. 

~~~

Draco’s shift at the cafe started early the next day, but he was still awake before dawn, pacing restlessly around his flat. He decidedly did _not_ overthink his outfit, because it didn’t matter what Potter thought of how he was dressed, and because Potter probably wouldn’t show up anyway. 

He was full of nervous energy all through the morning, pulling shots and calling out names to the monochrome crowd of customers. The other barista on duty, Katelyn, shot him a look when he knocked over a jug of oat milk, but she knew better than to pry when he was in a mood. She silently shot a siphoning spell at the mess and moved on. 

It was quite busy, which meant Draco could keep himself occupied—Mondays were hit or miss depending on the weather and the phrase of the moon, Katelyn explained when Draco had started the job the year before—and Draco had nearly forgotten Potter by the lunch rush. Of course, then a mischievous little girl snuck behind the counter to help, which reminded Draco of Teddy, which reminded him that Potter was coming—or not—in just under an hour. 

He threw himself into rearranging the syrup cabinet, then into a thorough round of cleaning charms for the pastry cases. By the time Deacon arrived to relieve Draco, the cafe was lemon-fresh and sparkling. 

“Rough morning?” asked Deacon as he tied on a black apron. 

Katelyn rolled her eyes. Draco peered into the paper towel dispenser’s reflective surface to comb his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know why he bothered; it was 2:03 and Potter wasn’t coming. 

Just then, the front door chimed. In walked Potter, wearing a ridiculous beanie over his hair and a wide smile.

Draco smiled unconsciously, then set his jaw in what he hoped was a nonchalant sort of way. “Hello.”

“ _Ohh_ ,” said Deacon behind him. 

Katelyn elbowed him, then smiled at Harry. “What can I get for you?”

Potter took a second to glance at the menu. “Er, a latte would be great. Caramel?”

Draco strode out from behind the counter. “We’ll take it to go, Katelyn, thanks.”

Deacon snorted. “I bet you will.”

~~~

Draco allows himself a moment to stretch his shoulders in the foggy heat of Harry’s bathroom before he opens the door. The room has grown lighter in his absence, but Harry is missing from his bed. Draco takes a moment to appreciate that Harry kicked the covers from his side of the bed sometime before dawn; he wonders if Harry does that every night. Smiling to himself, he hopes he’ll spend enough nights with Harry to find out. 

Harry’s wardrobe is a simple piece, light wood with two doors and small handles. Inside, it smells like cedar and more sandalwood and laundry soap and very, very Harry. Draco considers climbing in to hide all day in the safety of Harry’s clothes. Shaking his head, he sorts quickly through the bins to find one full of underwear. He feels a bit odd about it, but he shrinks a pair to fit his smaller hips and slides them on. There’s a little thrill that shoots through him knowing that he’s wearing Harry’s underwear, but he pushes aside the rush of arousal in favor of finding a top. 

Draco finds Harry’s t-shirt collection in a drawer and pilfers a soft grey crew neck. From there, he spots an emerald cardigan. It’s loose on him, but he pushes the sleeves up and leaves it unbuttoned over Harry’s shirt. 

Yesterday’s jeans are still folded over the cushy chair in the corner. Draco pulls them on and eyes himself in the mirror. He’s still flushed from the shower and his hair needs a good brushing charm, but he likes the look of Harry’s big sweater over his thin frame and decides, secretly, to keep it. 

~~~

Their coffee date was surprisingly nice. Draco found himself laughing at Potter’s ridiculous stories about work—he was starting a wizarding primary school with Hermione—going on about ludicrous zoning laws and various regulations that kept getting in the way of opening. Harry admitted he knew nothing about coffee, so Draco promised to invite him to the cafe’s next tasting. At that, Harry smiled impishly. “So you’d like to see me again?”

Draco blushed, and then was furious at himself for blushing. “The tastings are open to the public, Potter.”

“Do you want to get lunch sometime?”

Out of a sort of morbid curiosity, Draco agreed. 

A few days later, they got falafel from a muggle food cart near Harry’s house, then walked around to see the historical buildings in Islington. Draco talked about some of his favorite customers, and Harry asked how long he’d worked at the cafe. Draco, hackles up, tersely said, “A little over a year,” and didn’t elaborate. 

Harry, to his credit, seemed to understand the delicacy of the topic, whether or not he knew why it was touchy. “You tell good stories. You’re a good storyteller.” He paused. “Do you still support the Tornadoes?”

When Draco arrived at his flat that night, his feet were sore from walking and his cheeks were sore from smiling.

They started sending letters then, just little jokes back and forth. Once, Draco woke up for his early shift to find Harry’s owl perched at the end of his bed clutching a note that just said Good morning. Knowing Harry, he’d set an alarm to get up and send the letter before Draco woke up. Draco taped the note to his bathroom mirror.

Two weeks after Teddy’s birthday, they met for dinner. Draco picked the place—”I did all the work last time,” Harry teased—so they ate curry at a little place by the cafe. Harry poked fun at Draco begging the waiter for yogurt after just a bite of his dish, but gave up his water glass when Draco pouted. 

Apropos of nothing, Harry said, “D’you know I’m half-Indian?”

Draco nodded, unsure of what to say in response. 

“Of course you know,” Harry sighed. “I think I’m the only wix that doesn’t know my family history.” 

“I could help you, if you like.” Draco thinks of the stacks and stacks of heritage documents in his family vaults. The Potters must be in there.

Harry shrugged. “Hermione’s looked, but there’s just a little bit of history before my parents died. Sleekeazy’s had some about my grandparents, but nothing else.”

“Did Granger check with any pureblood families?” 

“I think just public records. It should all be there, shouldn’t it?”

Draco grinned. “I think I know what we should do this weekend.”

~~~

Draco spent a little while organizing the vault before Harry arrived. He found quite a lot on the Potters and even some references to the Peverells, though he suspected those were only rumors. Draco sorted the relevant files into a stack at the front of the vault, then pushed everything else to the back. 

A knock came, signifying Harry’s arrival, and Draco let him in, nodding to the goblin who escorted him. The goblin, Geddet, narrowed his eyes at Harry and made no move to leave. 

“Thank you, Geddet. I’ll ring when we’re ready to leave,” said Draco, doing his best grateful smile. 

Geddet made a hmph sound, waited a moment, and finally turned back to the cart.

“What was that about?” asked Draco, mostly to himself. 

“Oh, er, they still don’t really trust me to be down here,” said Harry, rubbing the back of his neck. “After, you know. The, er, dragon and all that.”

Draco laughed. “Ah, yes. Undesirable Number One. Of course.”

They set to looking through the dusty tomes. There were census records, birth and death certificates, marriage licenses, Wizengamot listings, and photos. Harry hadn’t thought to bring anything to take notes—Tigers and stripes, thought Draco—but Draco had packed a couple of notebooks and pens to share, as well as containers to store any copies they made. 

Harry was captivated. While Draco was just tracing names through the books, Harry touched every photo reverently, like they were flower petals in danger of crumbling, and lingered on each page. Draco didn’t understand, but he imagined seeing all this for the first time would be overwhelming. Draco had been forced to memorize many of these books as a child, so he was less enthusiastic about looking through them. Seeing the wonder on Harry’s face made it worth the effort, though. 

After a couple of hours, Harry stood up to stretch and wipe some of the dust off his hands. He looked around at the cavernous vault, the various furniture pieces covered in sheets, and Draco studied him. Harry had filled out since that first awful year of trials. He’d told Draco he’d started running in the evenings and it suited him. He was not tall—part of Draco was quite pleased that Harry had never caught up to him in height—but he had broad shoulders and strong legs. Harry’s back and chest muscles were visible under the old t-shirts he perpetually dressed himself in. Draco found he wanted to see what Harry looked like underneath them.

He realized he was staring and blinked, but Harry was still examining the vault. He peeked under a white sheet at an ancient wardrobe. “So do you have a separate vault for gold?” he asked without looking over. 

Draco felt his proverbial spikes go up. “No.”

Now Harry turned around. “So where’s—” His face changed with the realization. “Oh.”

“Yeah. There isn’t any.” Draco clenched his jaw, ready for Harry to make some snide comment. 

But it didn’t come. Harry pushed a few stacks of parchment aside and sat next to him. He was quiet, just there, so close Draco could almost feel their shoulders touching. 

“When—” Draco broke off, unsure, but Harry took his hand, nodded to show he was listening. Draco looked down at their intertwined fingers, letting Harry’s warmth ground him, and kept going. “When Father died, his assets were seized, which was—most of it. Mother still had some of the Black fortunes, of course, since she was the only heir left. But by the time we realized the Ministry wasn’t going to unfreeze Father’s gold she was already—” He broke off and swallowed around the lump in his throat. Harry smoothed his thumb over Draco’s hand. “Well, she was quite ill. We tried to get around it. She was quite clever, putting gold in a muggle bank. But there are so many regulations to follow, and there are limits to how many Galleons you can convert. So, in the end, it wasn’t much.”

“I’m so sorry, Draco,” Harry said quietly. 

“Well, it’s over now. I make enough at the cafe to get by in my flat, and maybe someday the Ministry will give it all back. To my grandchildren.” Draco laughed bitterly. “Let’s get back to it, hm?”

Harry looked at him for a long moment, then nodded and began to sort through the piles once more. 

~~~

They ate dinner on a restaurant patio that night, both of them craving sunlight after a day spent underground. They sat close, their shoulders touching. There was a new intimacy between them, like they had crossed some sort of threshold together in the vault. Draco let go of the urge to run; he wanted to stay.

When they left, they walked for a little while in the dusk, both of them quiet. Draco felt content; loneliness had been his constant companion since his mother died, but it eased with Harry. Strong, brash, warm Harry. 

They made it to Draco’s building and Harry faced him. “Thank you for today,” he said, a little smile on his lips. “That was really nice of you.”

“I could say the same for you,” Draco said.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asked. 

“Not if I kiss you first.” Draco darted in quickly to press his lips to Harry’s, who was still smiling, and delighted at the feeling of being so close. Harry kissed him back, slowly, then backed away. 

“See you tomorrow?” 

Harry nodded, kissed him again, and apparated away.

~~~

Draco finds Harry standing in the kitchen in a pair of low-slung boxer briefs, stirring something. The kitchen smells like coffee— _good_ coffee, Draco notes—and he gives himself just a moment to imagine having this every morning. Harry, barely moving his hips to the soft music he’s got on, the dimples on his lower back on display, his lovely hair still pillow-squashed on one side… 

“Hey,” Draco says softly, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist. 

Harry turns in his grasp, a bright smile on his face. “Good morning.” He glances down. “Nice sweater.”

Draco squashes the little bit of embarrassment that threatens his stomach and shrugs. “Thanks. I’m wearing your underwear as well.”

“Lovely,” Harry laughs. He presses a kiss to Draco’s jaw. “You look nice. Heading to work?”

“Hmm. I _was_.” Draco lets his hands fall down Harry’s back, loving the little shiver it inspires. He’s sure he’ll never get enough of the way Harry feels under his fingertips. “You look pretty nice yourself.”

Harry kisses him, and Draco knows he intended it to be innocent, but Draco deepens the kiss. He crowds Harry against the counter. Harry smiles. “What time do you need to be at the cafe?”

“Hang on.” Draco backs up a little, pulls his wand from his pocket and sends a patronus to Katelyn. _Running a bit late. Will buy you lunch xoxo_. He knows she’ll be fine, and she’s done the same to him half a dozen times. 

Harry, apparently, decided that ‘hang on’ meant ‘stop kissing my mouth and kiss me elsewhere instead.’ He’s pulled the collar of the t-shirt— _his_ t-shirt—aside and is steadily sucking marks across Draco’s shoulder. 

Draco gasps when Harry reaches the sensitive place at the base of his neck. “Okay, we’ve— _ah_ —got a little while.”

~~~

Several weeks and many kisses later, Draco wrote to Harry:

_H,_

_Meet me at the attached coordinates tonight at 11. It’s a surprise, so don’t ask._

_Yours,  
DM_

Harry’s owl flew into Draco’s living room just a moment later. 

_Can’t wait. See you then._

_xxxx  
Harry_

Draco apparated to the field a little before 11. He spread out a quilt, charmed the wine glasses not to spill, and threw up some basic anti-insect shields. 

Right on time, Harry popped into existence. “Hey, babe. What’s all this?”

Draco smiled up at him from the blanket. “Lay down. Wine?”

Harry did as he was told and accepted the glass of merlot. Draco scooted closer and Harry laid his arm out so Draco could rest his head on it. “Are we camping?”

Draco laughed. “We’re stargazing, Potter.” 

“Back to Potter, are we?”

“Mm, sometimes, yes.” Draco lifted Harry’s hand from his shoulder and kissed the palm. “Now look up.”

Stars were shooting across the night sky four and five at a time. Within a few minutes, the whole sky was covered in them, silver trails eclipsing the black expanse. Draco watched Harry’s face as it filled with awe. 

“Draco, this is—” Harry breathed.

“Isn’t it?” 

Harry looked over. Draco could see the shooting stars reflected in Harry’s glasses until Harry kissed him. Draco kissed back, threading his fingers through Harry’s curls, and Harry moaned. Draco, elated, turned over so he was halfway on top of Harry. Harry held his waist and sucked his lip and Draco was completely, totally lost. 

~~~

Harry sat between Draco’s legs, resting his back against Draco’s chest. Draco absentmindedly played with Harry’s hair. They were at Harry’s flat watching something called _Jurassic Park_ after an afternoon at the farmer’s market and an indulgent dinner of peaches and fresh cheese.

“I just don’t understand. Why would they clone them in the first place?” Draco asked, waving at the television. 

“The hubris of man,” Harry said solemnly. 

Draco snorted and kissed the top of Harry’s head. “And anyway, I’ve never seen dragons like these.”

“They’re not—” Harry turned around and saw Draco was grinning. “Ah, you’re fucking with me.”

“Potter, I’m not an idiot,” Draco said. 

Harry rolled his eyes, but squirmed around until he was straddling Draco. 

So far, they had kissed extensively, exchanged lovely handjobs under the stars, and written salacious letters (which Draco was terrified would be intercepted), but this was the most forward Harry had been with Draco. Draco, who had been concerned that Harry would shift too much between his legs and feel the partial hard-on he always seemed to be sporting around Potter these days, was very pleased with the development.

He ran his hands from Harry’s bare knees up under his shorts until he felt Harry’s briefs at his hips. Harry’s breathing quickened and Draco wanted to _drink_ the expression on his face—flushed, lips parted, eyes bright. He loved Harry’s responsiveness; he loved that Harry was reacting to _him_.

Harry kissed him then, and Draco let him explore his mouth with his tongue. Draco rubbed his hands up and down Harry’s thighs, adoring the rasp of hair, until Harry bucked his hips and moaned. Draco pulled back. “Is this okay?” he asked, sliding a finger under Harry’s waistband. 

“Yeah.” Harry pulled his shirt over his head in one swift movement and Draco nearly salivated. He leaned forward to lick one dark brown nipple and Harry sighed, running his fingers through Draco’s hair. 

A roar and a scream emanated from the television and Draco broke off. “Maybe we could…” He gestured at the screen. Harry twisted around and pressed a button on the remote.

“Actually, erm— Do you want to move this to my room?” 

Draco felt like he might float away. “Yes.” 

Harry led him through the kitchen to a small bedroom, the late evening light casting soft shadows across the bed. Draco didn’t stop to look around. When Harry sat on the edge of the bed, Draco knelt down between his knees. 

“This alright?” he asked softly, and Harry licked his lips and nodded. Draco tugged on Harry’s shorts until Harry lifted up a bit and shimmied them down his legs. He kicked them off as Draco planted wet kisses on Harry’s inner thigh, breathing in the intoxicating scent. He licked a line up where Harry’s leg met his hip and Harry bit back a moan. 

“Don’t stop yourself,” Draco said, looking up to make sure Harry understood. Harry’s pupils were wide and he grinned.

Teasing, Draco blew on Harry’s cock, smiling at the tight twitch it elicited. He licked the bead of precome from the tip, and this time Harry groaned. Draco smiled sweetly. “Doing okay?”

“God, you’re— _fffuck_.” Whatever Draco was, he’d never know, as he’d taken most of Harry’s cock into his mouth and sucked his cheeks hollow. He reached his tongue down toward the base, savoring the feeling of the pulsing vein, and began to bob his head, getting more and more of Harry into his mouth. 

Harry placed his hand on the back of Draco’s head, then quickly moved it and said, “Is that, _god_ , is that okay?” Draco took his hand and replaced it, nodding. He traced his tongue around the cockhead, stopping to play with the slit for a moment before sucking Harry back down. He loved the pressure of Harry’s hand in his hair and moaned around his cock, making Harry’s fingers curl against his scalp.

Draco took Harry’s balls in one hand, rolling and gently tugging, and Harry started jerking his hips. “Fuck, babe, that’s so— Ah—” He was breathing hard now, the tip of his cock bumping against the back of Draco’s throat as he swallowed around him. “I’m— Wait, hold on—” 

Draco pulled off, swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and looked at Harry. “You alright?”

Harry looked dazed, completely wrecked. His nipples were hard, his chest heaving. “Yeah, I’m—” He laughed and bent down to kiss Draco. “I’m so good. I just want to last longer.” 

“Oh? Do you have other plans for us?” Draco asked coyly, standing. 

“Yes,” said Harry, “beginning with you getting out of those clothes.” He slid a hand up Draco’s shirt to his chest, then stood and pulled the shirt over Draco’s head. Draco let him, raising his arms. Harry kissed him; Draco wondered if he could taste himself in his mouth.

Harry guided him around by his hips until Draco was backed against the bed. He laid back and Harry followed him, pressing open-mouthed kisses down his chest, his cock bobbing against Draco’s trousers. Draco was almost painfully hard and pressed the heel of one hand against himself to get some relief. Harry took notice and went to work on Draco’s belt, biting one hipbone as he unbuttoned the fly. Draco gasped at the pain of the bite, but then Harry had a hand wrapped around him and his nerves were buzzing with electricity. Harry spread his precome around the head, wanking him with slow, tight movements, watching Draco’s face. Draco’s couldn’t look away from Harry’s broad fingers around his pink cock.

“I want you to fuck me,” said Harry, his voice low.

Draco thought he might come just from those words. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, coming back up to lay at Draco’s side. “Unless— Do you not—?”

“I do,” Draco said quickly. He pulled Harry to him for a kiss, his brain short circuiting as their pricks rubbed between them. 

Harry moved away just a little, panting. “I haven’t, er, prepped or anything, but I know the spells if you’re okay with—”

Draco nodded. “Yeah. Yes. Definitely.” He circled his fingers at the base of his cock and took a deep breath. “God, I haven’t been like this in a long time.”

“Me neither,” Harry laughed. He waved at his arse and gasped. 

“Did you just—?”

“It’s a little cold, it always catches me off guard.”

“No, I mean, did you just do that wandless?” 

Harry hesitated. “Yes? But you can do wandless, I’ve seen you.”

“Not on my _arse_ ,” Draco said, chuckling. “It’s too hard to control, I’d be worried I’d eviscerate myself.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Um, I don’t know, Hermione says—”

Draco pressed a kiss to his lips. “Come here, you mad bugger.”

He maneuvered them around until he was on top between Harry’s spread legs. Harry bit his lip and Draco sucked the same lip into his mouth. He smoothed his hand down Harry’s sides, trailed his fingernails along his hip and arse cheek, and smiled when he felt goosebumps. 

“Can you conjure lube?” Draco asked, already knowing the answer. Harry furrowed his brow and a dollop of warm lube appeared on Draco’s outstretched palm. Draco laughed and kissed him again. He reached between Harry’s legs and delicately ran a finger from Harry’s sack to his hole, teasingly circled it, then up to his cock for a stroke. Harry groaned and arched up, searching for his touch, so Draco dipped back down and stroked his hole, carefully pressing his index finger inside. 

Harry relaxed around him (Draco was relieved—he’d been half-worried Harry had never done this before) and Draco slowly moved his finger out and back in. After a few strokes, he said, “Another?” 

Harry nodded. “Kiss me,” he breathed, and Draco did, adding a second finger at the same time. Harry moaned into the kiss when Draco found his prostate, rubbing with gentle strokes. Draco scissored his fingers, gently stretching Harry, listening as his breathing became quick again. 

“One more,” murmured Draco, adding a third finger. It was almost unbearable—he wanted to be inside Harry _now_ —but Harry was tight and Draco was determined to make him comfortable.

When Harry started moving his hips to meet Draco’s hand, Draco withdrew. Harry let out a little whimper that Draco kissed away. “More lube?” The lube was in his palm before he even finished asking. 

Draco stroked his own cock, coating himself, and added a little more at Harry’s entrance. Harry wrapped his legs around Draco’s waist. 

Draco took a second to soak in this moment—Harry laid out for him, hard and wanting, messy and completely perfect. He kissed both of Harry’s cheeks in a burst of sweetness. Harry kissed him hungrily as he pressed his cock in, only stopping to breathe when Draco paused to give him time to adjust. Harry moved his hips slightly to one side and then back the other way. Draco held absolutely still, praying he didn’t come too quickly. 

“I’m ready.” Harry raked his fingers up Draco’s back, and Draco gasped. 

He pulled halfway out, then thrust in slowly. “Okay?” he breathed, and Harry nodded, pulling him closer. 

Draco let himself go, sinking into the bliss of feeling Harry all around him. He kept his pace slow as long as he could, watching in awe as Harry fell apart beneath him, little hisses of fuck and god, yes devolving into strings of vowels broken by staccato moans. Draco wanted to bottle the sounds Harry made and play them on repeat. 

He took hold of Harry’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, and Harry sucked bites into his neck and chest. He was barely holding on, speeding up against his will, when Harry came in his hand with a cry. And then it was all too much—Harry’s stomach splattered with his own come, his mouth wide with lust, his sounds echoing around Draco’s head—and he buried himself in Harry and came harder than he could remember. 

Afterward, they lay together, Draco’s head on Harry’s chest, talking in soft voices. Draco told Harry about writing the letter to Andromeda; Harry told Draco about walking into the forest that day in May, knowing he was about to die. Draco traced Harry’s ribs and thanked whatever fates or gods had put them there, together in the dark, tingling with Harry’s cleaning charm and the very beginnings of love. 

Draco fell asleep without knowing it; he dreamed of sandalwood and dusk and bronze-brown fingers intertwined with his.

~~~

Draco stops in Harry’s front doorway to peek in the accent mirror there before heading to work. He’s flushed, his hair is a mess, and he clearly looks like he’s just been thoroughly fucked. 

Harry comes out of the bathroom, still naked, and catches him trying to fix his hair. “I like your new look. You should keep it.”

Draco frowns at him. “You’re a demon, Potter.” He does his best to straighten the cardigan and finds his jeans are still unbuttoned. He does them up with a huff.

Harry takes Draco’s hands, presses kisses to each palm, and Draco’s already precariously soft heart melts a little more. He knows he’s in love with Harry—it’s not just last night or this morning, it’s everything, every smile and kiss and teasing jab. It’s even the shadows in Harry’s eyes, the way they match Draco’s own dark places. It’s the way Harry listens and doesn’t fix, just stays with him until the hurt hurts less. It’s the twisting, sparkling thrill every time Harry touches him, the one he’s sure will never fade.

It’s that Harry doesn’t want him to go.

“Katelyn is going to kill me,” Draco murmurs.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Go on, then. I’ll see you tonight.”

Draco kisses his cheek and opens the door.

“Wait,” Harry says, fingertips not letting go of Draco’s. 

Draco turns back, half-laughing. “Wha—?”

Harry catches him in a kiss, chaste and sweet and lingering, and Draco feels him the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated.
> 
> This work is part of the 2020 HP Inspired by Imagery Fest, an on-going anonymous fest. Authors will be revealed once all works are posted.


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